Archive: Author: Keri O'Shea

By Keri O’Shea

When we think about the portrayal of the eponymous Vikings on screen, we tend to associate them with battle epics – simply put, hear ‘Viking’ and assume that blood, guts, rape and pillage can’t be far behind. Well, to a certain degree, the shoe fits; the first Naval superpower didn’t always make friends where it landed, and the Vikingr were responsible for a good deal of violence during the (debated) three hundred or so most active years of the Viking Age. However, this is only a part of their story, and of the peoples with whom they variously traded, settled, intermarried and fought over the centuries. And, just as there is more to the Vikings, so we now also see something of a move towards different perspectives on them and their contemporaries in cinema; the film which leaps to mind here is, of course, Nicholas Winding Refn’s slow-burn mood piece Valhalla Rising, a great film often maligned for being a terrible battle epic, when it never ever had the slightest pretension to being one. Hmm. Perhaps it’s going to take the viewing public a little while longer to get into the idea of the low-key Viking movie…but they should, as this is a terrific and as-yet mostly untapped vein of ferocious history and cultural upheaval. Which brings me to director Chris Crow’s most recent movie, The Darkest Day.

As recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, the year of 793 was a particularly bad time for the people of Britain; illness and famine had laid the populace low enough, and many were beginning to believe that they were living in the end of days – when, as they landed on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, it seemed that God had added a heathen horde to the problems facing his believers. The monastery of Lindisfarne was no match for the insurgent Danes; the monks had embraced simplicity, chastity and poverty, and were, in effect, unsuited in every way to repelling the invaders, even had they wished. This real historical starting-point is where writer/director Crow begins his tale. Here, the Vikings have come in search of the Holy Gospel of Lindisfarne; not because they want to convert – they hold no truck with the Whitechrist – but because they know of the book’s reputation for great power and their leader, Hadrada, seeks this power for himself and his son. Whosoever gains access to the book, he believes, will have absolute power over all Britain.

However, at first unknown to Hadrada and his men, the book has already been taken out of the monastery by two keepers whose aim is to smuggle it to the safety of Iona. Young monk Hereward is charged with completing this task, and (albeit with a Saxon protectorate) thus begins a deadly game of pursuit into the brutal heart of ancient Northumbria, where the old gods have not been extinguished and the grasp of Christianity has not overcome the urge to fight, and kill. (Well, has it ever?)

In its arduous journey of a minuscule cast through unforgiving terrain, it’s fair to say that The Darkest Day does bear some resemblance to a number of other films; it certainly reflects something of the leaden gloom of Valhalla Rising, whilst other elements in the storytelling, like the quasi-magical significance of the Gospel and the journey for it reminded me a little of Black Death and its own protagonists’ journey to the village which has power over the Plague – but, as both of these are films I love, I certainly have no problem with that. Where The Darkest Day differs from these is in the particular way it fuses story, folk tale, and a real British historical perspective which is all but invisible in film.

Whilst I started this review by talking about the Vikings, you have to remember that the Vikings didn’t exist in a vacuum, and when they started raiding England, they were frequently knocking heads with a population which, soon after settling had begun referring to themselves as the English – the Anglo-Saxons. Where are the Saxons in cinema? Hardly to be seen, which perhaps reflects that common misconception of a ‘Dark Age’ in Britain which unfairly places the Saxons in the ‘mumblemumble’ category of history between Roman and Viking. Therefore, it’s an absolute pleasure to find a film which reflects all inhabitants of the British Isles at this point in time, and even more of a pleasure to find a character like Aethulwulf (Mark Lewis Jones), an affirmedly Anglo-Saxon badass, protector of Hereward, and more than happy to cleave a few Dane skulls, given half the chance. We also have Picts who keep to their old ways (step forward, ahem, PILF Eara, played by Elen Rhys), crazed Christian sects, and godless assassins. It’s dangerous in them hills (the film was actually shot entirely on location in South Wales) and, really speaking, it’s unfair to call this film just a Viking movie, even though in this day and age it’s a tag which sells. The Vikings here are really flawed antagonists in an all-encompassing tale of a time in flux; one more thing that I liked was that these ain’t supermen and this ain’t Pathfinder. All the people represented here are believable because they make mistakes, or they’re selfish, or cowardly, or scared.

As the plot depends on an on-foot pursuit, with one set of people desperately trying to avoid being seen by the other, the story arc here is often surprisingly gentle, with a sense of real-time movement through the land. We also have a very small cast, with no huge armies or heavily-populated areas. However, when it gets nasty, this is a bloody, tense tale, which actually leads to the one scene I think should have hit the cutting-room floor, namely the rape scene, a shock which disrupted the moody atmosphere of the film for a moment. I personally preferred to immerse myself in those cold, bleak landscapes, a series of strong performances and in the sense of a tale very slowly coming together – and the conclusion, when it comes, is an absolutely brilliant moment.

If you were to come to this film expecting any fulfilment of the cover art – yes, that cover art replete with smug history student-baiting horned helmets, or people who aren’t in the film at all – then, trust me, you will be disappointed in The Darkest Day. Someone’s had one of those brainstorms which winds up utterly misrepresenting the film. Leave it alone, if it’s mass-scale blood and iron you’re after. This is a film about people, not armies, and mindsets, not massacres. If, however, you have room in your heart for a brooding, evocative historical drama set in some of early Medieval Britain’s most troubled times, then you would be hard-pressed to find a better one than this. I – perhaps predictably – loved this film.

‘The Darkest Day’ Teaser Trailer. from Chris Crow on Vimeo.

The Darkest Day (as Viking: The Darkest Day) is available to buy now.

By Keri O’Shea

There have been a few cryptozoological horrors in recent years – that is, horror movies about mythologised species, part-legend and part hazy reports from often unreliable sources. The Sasquatch, the Mothman, even the Chupacabra…and, in new British movie Lord of Tears, we have an interesting mash-up of creature legend and pagan ritual, a film choc-ful of more ideas than it can ever truly accommodate, but worthy of credit for trying very earnestly to establish a new horror mythos in a world of lazy handycam rehashes and fan-baiting remakes.

After the death of his estranged mother, teacher James Findlay (Euan Douglas) is declared executor of her will and inherits the family estate, of which part is to be found in Baldurrock, in remotest Scotland. However, in a letter left to him, his mother advises him never to go to Baldurrock; it was the source, she said, if some great mental trauma in his early years, and the reason that she thought it better that he be brought up elsewhere. Well, this is the movies, and no one ever follows that sort of sane advice, do they? Not that he even needs to go to Scotland in order for his tenuous peace to be shattered at all, though; as soon as he’s reminded that anything ever happened to him, James begins to experience nightmares, and in particular, he dreams of a strange, owl-headed figure which scares him as much as an adult as it – apparently – ever did when he was a child. James feels that he needs closure on all of this, and so he travels to the family home in order to investigate further. There, with the help of an American woman living in the area, begins the unravelling of a mystery.

First things first; in writing for this site I encounter a lot of screeners in an average year, and it’s becoming increasing rare – as sites grow many and funds grow low – to receive anything beyond your basic blank disc in a plastic sleeve, let alone a boxed disc (and more and more, you’ll get a download code instead of a disc at all) so it was a pleasant surprise to get a very stylishly packaged DVD here; rather than a DVD-sized box, what we have is a CD-style fold out with a booklet, and the evident intention in mind that the monster of Lord of Tears ain’t out of stories yet. In fact, in its ambition the film crams in a massive amount which, in an ideal world perhaps, would have been spread out over more than one movie.

This is a film which wants to do something different, and it’s unusual for an early feature (director Lawrie Brewster’s second) to really go for it in this respect. It has classic horror at heart, name-checking the likes of The Innocents and – perhaps expectedly – The Wicker Man, but it also wants to achieve something of its own. All of this is to be admired, and certainly goes a long way with this reviewer. However, for me, this is a film which is at its best when it’s low key. Throughout the film, and from the first scenes, Lord of Tears utilises lots of flashy, cut-away scenes, adding surreal notes to the mix which detract from, rather than add to the horror on offer. It also uses masses of incidental music which felt very high in the mix and rather overpowering, especially compared to the audio in the film. A more softly-softly approach would have helped to create the atmosphere which, let’s face it, with locations as good as the ones used here, may well have sprung up organically. On those occasions where the film allows us to barely-glimpse something, the sort of motif used so well by a film like The Innocents, it works best.

Now, I’ve mentioned that the film doffs its cap to a lot of classic horror, and in one respect it does what a lot of British movies have felt they must do down through the years; namely, casting an American in a lead role. Evie Turner (Lexy Hulme) fulfils a dual purpose as a love interest and as a character involved in the film’s twist, but I have to say – with respect – that I didn’t feel she worked well here, and that some of her scenes – again, with respect – should have hit the cutting-room floor. To Euan Douglas’ quiet, even nervous performance she seems incredibly overblown and unbelievable, but then, when directed to participate in a ‘sexy’ scene which seems to consist of slow-mo modern dance which demands a lampshade as a ‘sexy’ prop, then what’s a girl to do? Perhaps this was intended as light relief or even seriously as titillation, but I couldn’t quite believe my eyes.

Still, dance-off notwithstanding, and although the film needed to itself thinly in order to get to its explication, I liked that it at least wanted to up the ante. Pulling in elements of lots of disparate mythologies, adding a little extra and then coming up with an original yarn isn’t the easy option these days. Yes, Lord of Tears is outlandish and yes, there are some issues with it, but it gets credit for its ambition. Last but not least, it’s nice to hear David Schofield’s dulcet tones in his guest role here, and who knows? Perhaps that strange owl-headed figure will be back yet…

Lord of Tears receives its première at the Bram Stoker International Film Festival on 25th October 2013.

By Keri O’Shea

Families. They’re funny things. Think about it: with no say on your part, you may find yourself tied, for the duration of your mortal existence, to a rag-tag assembly of people with whom you have very little in common, if anything at all. And yet, for all that – they still matter hugely. They always matter, even if you’ve fallen out, even if you’ve stopped speaking altogether.

After Death takes a look at what happens to a group of grown-up siblings after the sudden demise of their estranged father; it has been seven years since they saw him. So, they all gather at the house they grew up in, as is the right thing to do, and they try to balance the customary issue of managing their grief alongside all of the hard graft which needs to be done when a person shuffles off the mortal coil – shifting the deceased’s belongings, managing their estate, and so on. In this case, it seems, their dad was something of a character; he was an amateur scientist as well as a collector, and there is one room in the house – his laboratory – which they can’t get into. Not only this, but as the initial shock of loss begins to fade, the family need to come to terms with a lot of things which have happened in that seven years, and just before they parted ways too. Oh, and time, it seems, is against them; the house is at risk of being sold…

What follows, after a lengthy preamble which establishes the characters at the heart of the story, is (contrary to what I expected) a family drama which integrates a spot of gentle sci-fi into the mix. After Death isn’t just about coming to terms with loss; it’s a sojourn into a very unusual take on the Afterlife.

The first comment I’d make here is that this is an incredibly British film. From the phraseology (“You’re such a knob” is not, to my knowledge, an expression which has crossed the Atlantic) to the elder brother’s celeb-obsessed girlfriend who desperately wants to emulate Jordan, right down to the rather grand family seat which is at stake – not to mention a cameo performance from Leslie bloody Phillips – this is an Anglophile’s dream and potentially a rather strange state of affairs for a non-Brit. But that’s okay; there’s nothing here that’s incomprehensible, only that it hinges upon a lot of British references. The success of these references depends on something which the film does very well, and that is to put into play a nicely-observed script and a keen eye for the minutiae of upset, broken-down people. Of all the siblings in this story, it’s youngest sister Eloise (the pre-Raphaelite-looking Claira Watson Parr) who stands out most, being a young woman still anchored to childhood issues and, in her vulnerability, often a bit annoying, as well as sympathetic.

However, to build up the characterisation, the film spends a lot of time dwelling on the intricacies of family dynamics and this means a plot which is very low on action. It feels well overdue for its twist when the film finally shows its hand and moves into new territory. The film stays low-key throughout however, and for many readers of this site it will be off-putting because of this. Which is in many ways a shame, as what After Death throws in there, though doesn’t quite exploit fully, is a nice little spin on the notion of life after death. To say too much here would be to spoiler, but let’s say that it has some intriguing ideas. Perhaps ultimately the film is held back by its genre-straddling style, which is something which could make it difficult for it to find a receptive audience.

There are a lot of good things to be said about After Death; it shows evidence of creativity, which is always a plus, and it has the skill to create well-rounded characters in whom you can take an interest. It’s not afraid to do things differently, either. This may be what holds it back, too, as it never quite feels like it makes the impact you anticipate from all of its elements coming together, but as the first feature by writer/director Martin Gooch it certainly shows his ability to craft kitchen sink weirdness which – who knows? – could become its own genre…

By Comix

Oh, it’s another one of these. It’s that comic that you’ve read a million times, the one with the group of secretly funded ghost hunters who travel the globe stomping out monsters. We saw it in BPRD, we saw it in Atomic Robo, and in Hoax Hunters, The Intrepids, Justice League Dark, the list goes on and on. So why am I even bothering to stuff down another review about a group of diverse people banding together to stop evil in its tracks via magic and laser guns?

Because S.H.O.O.T. First has something that none of the other comics have, or, lack thereof. They lack faith in what they see. Standing for Secular Humanist Occult Obliteration Taskforce, S.H.O.O.T. has the unique problem of just plain not believing what they are seeing, even as they are shooting a djinn in the face or talking to angels, giving this comic a unique twist on a classic team story.

The comic starts out with terrorist attack in Iran. Originally thought to be a car bomb, it’s soon revealed that a couple of djinns have got loose from their world and decided to wreak havoc on a mosque. Enter S.H.O.O.T., a team of sass-talking Americans and Brits who come down to kick-ass and get names, all while blaming the appearance of the djinn as nothing but dimension hopping assholes. Weird, right? As things get a little tight in the prayer room, a man who had recently lost his faith saves the team by the skin of his teeth before blacking out. Waking up later in an underground facility in Dubai, the team explains to the man (and us) who they are and what they do. I don’t want to ruin it for you about how they work, but this kind of thing goes all the way to the Pope! Tossing in political intrigue and a war to end all wars, S.H.O.O.T. will have you questioning everything you’ve been taught about religion.

All in all, S.H.O.O.T. First is a very good read. The writing is tight and not one to focus on pointless narratives or dead-end plot tools, a true definition of Chekov’s gun. It’s interesting to see the comic attempt to re-analyze our beliefs and whilst some parts, like the guns firing on anger and doubt, is a bit schlocky, it doesn’t overstep the boundaries of good taste. It never insults the reader, just presents things differently. My only real problem would be the characters’ originality which is to say, there is none. There’s a tough, black woman, a snarky, British guy, a short-skirted, white girl; they’re nothing you haven’t seen before. That’s not to say they might not evolve past their roles, but it’s hard to see it at this point.

The writer, Justin Aclin, is not exactly new to the scene, but it seems like the only credit I can find is some Star Wars comics and something called Hero House. Also, blogging. Despite the limited experience, if S.H.O.O.T. First is any indication of what he’s capable of, I’d be interested to see more. Nicolas Selma, his artist is, well, an artist. He’s good at what he does and is very capable at illustrating Aclin’s words, but it’s not much to write about, which is pretty good since I’m a huge stickler for art. I definitely suggest picking S.H.O.O.T. First up; it starts up solid and continues all the way to the end, leaving the reader excited for the next issue.

S.H.O.O.T. First drops Oct. 16 from Dark Horse at your friendly, neighborhood comic shops!

By Keri O’Shea

Threaded through what little we understand of early British pagan beliefs – and one of the reasons they continue to hold such fascination is that so much about them has been obscured by time – is the central idea that Nature is cyclical, with birth and death not only following one another, but necessary to one another. Although it is an idea which at least partly formed the basis of the rather anaemic Wicca movement in the twentieth century, perhaps its most well-known representation in horror cinema is still via the greatest ever British horror movie, The Wicker Man, with its OST song ‘The Maypole Song’ providing a succinct summation of the belief. In referencing a British folk song, ‘The Cauld Lad of Hylton’ in his prologue – one of a wealth of songs which surely influenced Paul Giovanni in his own work – author Frazer Lee seems from the outset to be calling to that set of beliefs, and to their representations. This was not the last time that The Wicker Man crept into my head as I read his latest book. However, as a horror fan himself, Frazer doesn’t just stick with psychological horror in his latest novel, The Jack in the Green. The opening of this book packs a visceral, horribly sensual punch which makes it clear that body, mind and soul are always at risk here.

Tom McCrae is a man in his mid-thirties who, outwardly at least, has signed up to the sanctioned routine of wife-home-career. However, Tom is plagued by nightmares about the murder of his parents, who were killed when he was just six years old, and these dreams continue to have a terrifying, destabilising effect on his waking life. Now living in California with his wife Julia, living day to day and seemingly deeply dissatisfied with his lot, he takes an assignment which requires him to travel to Scotland to secure important real estate for the expansion of his company’s biofuel business. Upon arrival, his nightmares begin to escalate, and worse – they now seem to have become invested with an unpleasant sense of foreboding. Predestiny? Tom certainly seems to be entering an unpleasant and inescapable chain of events which call to an existence of his beyond him.

There has been, of late, something of a pattern in Frazer Lee’s fiction: as in his recent novella The Lucifer Glass, here we have in our central character (though not our narrator) Tom McCrae another contested modern career man, one who only has the appearance of stability and contentment. For Tom, it only takes one shift in circumstances to propel him towards confronting his true self. These divided, often guilt-ridden men whose devils on their shoulders are only too ready to begin to speak louder allow for a pleasing ambiguity to develop in the narrative, and also for flawed, yet believable conduct from main characters towards others. There’s a constant note of cynicism here, too: Tom McCrae often lapses into sneering dissatisfaction with the system he has found himself part of, his internal monologue lashing out at everything which is wrong with the world even as he is carried along with it. This believable grounding permits the fantastical which creeps in to feel more weighty – as if all of these horrific things are happening to someone that for the most part you can easily believe in.

And the horror which unfolds brings with it some very neat, well-wrought ideas. One thing which Lee does very well is write about dreams, creating convincing nightmares that are integral to the plot, but not simply stopping there; the other side of the coin is to see what effect these have upon his characters as they try to make sense of the nonsensical, and try to disbelieve in what they have just experienced. As the story progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult for his characters – and for us – to make this distinction. This creates some very engaging and effective horror sequences, described in vivid detail (though at times the number of similes used in the text feels excessive). The location of the story in remote Scotland is also important to the success of these horror sequences, as Lee renders some deeply evocative descriptions of the woodland which surrounds the village of Douglass, making it fundamental to the dreams themselves, but also using it to again remind us that Nature is as pitiless as it is picturesque. Bad dreams, childhood trauma, darkest woods…The Jack in the Green knowingly shuffles the horror archetypes like a pack of cards.

I have alluded to the novel’s outward connections to The Wicker Man: certainly, the barest description of the plot – a professional man called from suburbia to an isolated Scottish community which seems to retain odd, atavistic beliefs – makes the comparison inevitable. There are other common points, too, but as the story moves along, Lee’s evident awareness of these sends things into a much different direction. In many ways this is the sequel to The Wicker Man that I wish existed instead of the abysmal Wicker Tree; The Jack in the Green takes recognisable elements, sure, but allows them to extend into the supernatural in a way which The Wicker Man never does. It takes the ‘old gods’ of Summerisle and makes them real – and terrifying – in Douglass. Not only this, but there are also graphic, bloody scenes in this novel more akin to Hellraiser than The Wicker Man. By the time we reach the finale of this book, it is a very different beast to the one I expected and which, if you are yet convinced that this is too close to The Wicker Man for comfort, you will expect either.

In order to create greater complexity, though, Lee introduces several supporting characters, one of whom in particular I felt became ever more rootless as his presence in the narrative increased. I wanted to know a lot more about him – but he was moved aside for an end sequence about-face which felt slightly frustrating. There are also other characters whom I questioned at first, but they – to a greater or lesser extent – prove their worth, eventually tying into the plot well. This is not to say that Lee’s determination to close his tale in the same dark way it begins doesn’t pay off, but it means at least one compromise is made in order to do so.

However, it is a small detail considering the many things to recommend this novel. Skillfully blending quintessential British horror with vivid interludes of bodily trauma and mental anguish, The Jack in the Green is as ambitious as it is enthusiastic. In reading this book you will vacillate between different states: terrified child, restless sleeper and horrified bystander. There is plenty here to call to each.

The Jack in the Green is available from 1st October 2013 from Samhain Publishing.

By Tristan Bishop

I remember being confounded when I heard the news – I Spit On Your Grave 2 was on the way. A remake of a controversial classic is one thing, but a sequel to one which didn’t have any sequels originally? And the press release referring to it as a ‘franchise’ set more than a few teeth on edge. Granted, the 2010 I Spit On Your Grave remake is generally regarded as one of the less awful of the current batch of re-imaginings of horror classics, but this seemed perhaps a step too far.

Then came the infamous quote. A British print magazine which shall remain nameless gave up the following as a sound bite – “The best horror sequel ever made”. Right there in black and white. Let’s forget such disappointing fare as Bride Of Frankenstein, or Dr Phibes Rises Again, or Halloween 3 – this is the real deal, folks! The benchmark has been set!

But all irritating sarcasm aside, my interest was suitably piqued. After all, whoever gave that quote must have been impressed (or possibly caught short in a moment of emotional weakness), so I was curious to see what director Steven R Monroe (who also directed the original as well as various SyFy channel master works like the Katharine Isabelle-starrer Ogre) had to offer.

Our main protagonist is Katie (Jemma Dallender), who is an aspiring model. When one agency tells her that she needs better portfolio pictures, she is given a number for a free photography service. At the studio she is greeted by Ivan, the photographer, played by that Joe Absolom out of EastEnders, as well as his brothers, the friendly but creepy Georgy, and druggie scum bag Nikolai. They take her photos, but when it is suggested she ‘shows a little more skin’ she cottons onto the scam and leaves. Later Georgy appears at her apartment to give her the pictures, and is making a very good job of looking like a creepy stalker. She thanks him and asks him to leave. However, soon afterwards he turns up in her apartment in the middle of the night, binds and rapes her. Her friend arrives and tries to stop him, but is knifed and killed. Georgy calls his brothers to come and sort out the mess, and Katie is force-fed ketamine and wakes in a dirty basement. She manages to escape (after some abuse and a second, mostly off-screen rape from Nikolai, which Georgy stops), and soon discovers she has been transported from New York to Bulgaria without her knowledge whilst drugged, with no clothes, save a short nightie, no money and no idea of how to get home.

This being a sequel to I Spit On Your Grave, then I won’t be offering up any massive spoilers when I reveal that she doesn’t go straight to the US Embassy and get on a plane home – she instead wreaks violent vengeance on her abusers. There are a couple of plot twists on the way there, albeit nothing too taxing or surprising. We’ve probably all seen a rape/revenge film before and they all follow the same pattern. So is there any reason to watch this? Well, that entirely depends on your reason for wanting to see the film.

For the casual film-goer, probably not. Whilst the film-makers are competent enough, the script is fairly dire, with Katie delivering lines earlier on such as ‘I know how to catch me some vermin’ (she grew up in the country you see – this is the sole bit of characterisation our central character is afforded), and her later leaving a Bible open, causing a priest’s eye to fall on the ‘Vengeance is mine’ verse. This is not a film which deals in subtlety – and in fact that would be excusable for a rough and ready exploitation film, but the second major weak point is, unfortunately, the lead actress. Whilst entirely convincing as a model, Dallender struggles to deliver the pitch black sarcasm as she eviscerates her attackers (although to be fair she isn’t given much to work with), and as for the scenes where she manhandles the rapists, her tiny frame seems entirely incapable of such action, and we are left with a growing sense of disbelief in what was already a fairly shaky concept.

To give them their due, though, the people who made this knew who they were making this for – the indiscriminate gore hounds amongst us – those who can happily ignore any minor shortcomings like acting or knowing how to move a camera at the right time if they are given a healthy dose of gore and/or sleaze. I occasionally count myself among these people if I’m in a particularly twisted mood, in fact. So does it deliver in the requisite brutality?

Yeah it does. And then some. The version under review has been, rather astoundingly, shorn of a massive six minutes at the behest of the BBFC (although this was by prior consultation, so the film has not technically been cut by them). I believe it differs somewhat to the unfinished ‘special festival cut’ shown at Frightfest, but as I did not attend, and have not yet seen the unrated version, and cannot find any information whatsoever as to exactly what was missing, I am left to assume this was all cut from the first half of the film, and the rape and humiliation of Katie – In fact, given the excesses of the original’s near three quarter hour rape sequences, I was somewhat surprised (and somewhat relieved, truth be told) that the sexual assaults take up only a couple of minutes of screen-time, and one takes place off-screen entirely (at least in this version). It’s still plenty grim though, just not in the league that I was expecting giving the series’ pedigree. Any such fears that the revenge parts in the second half of the film might have been subject to censorial interference are dashed however, as our angel of death slices, electrocutes, beats and subjects her former attackers to even worse tortures – one scene in particular left me with my jaw resting in my lap, and the gruesome details are just the sort that dedicated gore freaks will eat up.

So can I recommend it as the best horror sequel ever made? Or even as a worthwhile film to the average viewer? Not remotely, but the UK cut serves up the expected splattery revenge, and for those among us with a taste for the twisted, that will probably be enough to warrant a viewing.

I Spit On Your Grave 2 will be released to DVD on October 8th 2013.

By Keri O’Shea

When a film’s press release name-checks Cronenberg and Buttgereit, it has immediately placed itself in a risky position; any movie mentioned in the same breath as these bastions of body horror has a hell of a way to go to prove itself, and you often can’t help thinking it’d be better if a film came in quieter, kept below the parapet and let its qualities speak for themselves. It would certainly have been better in this instance, as unfortunately Thanatomorphose, despite its cool title and interesting-on-paper premise, is simply not up to the challenge. Body horror, yes, but with severe limitations.

After a night of bruise-inducing sex which is refracted through a trippy, psychedelic array of filters and colours, we meet our nameless female protagonist (played by Kayden Rose) and find her fairly nonchalant about her injuries. She seems fairly unresponsive to most things, actually – her activity partner’s attitude towards her, her shitty landlord, her friend who seems desperate to become a slightly more considerate friend-with-benefits…that is, until her injuries, rather than healing, begin to mysteriously worsen. Soon her fingernails are dropping off, her hair is shedding – in fact, she seems to be decomposing. At first, she’s terrified – but soon enough she seems to being finding it all quite liberating. The worse she looks, the better she feels, and the more able she seems to feel to put things in her life order once and for all.

See, all of that sounds original and challenging, but the challenging nature of making that storyline effective is not borne out by the way it’s handled on screen. The vivid, promising opening sequence gives way to a long series of domestic scenes which, despite the sheer amount of nudity involved (more anon), I can only describe as turgid. I tried very hard, I looked very hard, but I found myself switching off. I would say that the first twenty minutes of this movie are make-or-break time; had characterisation occurred at this point, and had I been able to feel anything at all for the lead, then what eventually happens to her might have had the sort of impact you imagine is possible when you look at the blurb. Of course, it could be that the way in which our protagonist is kept remote from the audience is actually deliberate and intended to make a point about her relationship to herself, but that doesn’t come across successfully. I never felt sure whether the flatness of the role was aim or accident, but I was definitely repelled by the barrage of ‘girl walks around apartment’ sequences and didn’t feel that these moved the film along in any expedient way. Any film which takes place in such a limited space with a small cast really needs to go some in order to achieve what it sets out to do. Editing takes place through these scenes, sure, but the jumps forward keep us within the same mundane scenes. The pace soon drops away to nothing.

And yeah, the fact that Kayden Rose is naked or at least has her ass out in most of these scenes could, I am sure, also be intentional in the sense that the director and writer, Éric Falardeau, wants to make the point that her character is only ever seen as a sex object, or something. Except I can’t quite believe that. I’m very far from being sensitive to T&A in cinema, believe me, but the way it occurs here felt skeezy and unpleasant in ways which are quite hard to quantify, though I’ll try.

It’s not that the nudity is simply plentiful; it’s not that it so frequently seems like it has been crowbarred into proceedings with little or no justification; it’s not even that it is badly shot and edited. It’s all of those things, only lethally combined with the non-entity status of the character – the only character we really get, despite a handful of small roles. If any filmmaker is trying to make a point that this woman – or even women in general – have to literally go to pieces in order to reclaim their bodies, then this grand point feels redundant when it feels like the filmmaker is part and parcel of the problem which sees women in that way in the first place. This girl is rendered down into a collage of butt shots and passive utterances; if the intention was to present the audience with more than that, then it’s not there.

And yet, this is a film which seems to aim high. The psychedelic asides, though few and far between, and the fact that the film is broken into three named chapters, seem to be giving a nod to filmmakers like Noé and Von Trier, rather than more conventional horror fare. Nothing wrong with being ambitious, of course, but perhaps getting the basics right first would be best. There are some good things going on here; the make up SFX as Rose’s character begins to putrefy are genuinely rather good considering they’ll have been done on a tight budget, and the idea itself is good, which perhaps means that more ideas may spring from the same source in future. However, in Thanatomorphose the centre cannot hold, and the finished product itself goes from lividity to rigor mortis to decomposition.

Thanatomorphose will be released in the UK on DVD and iTunes by Monster Pictures on 25th November 2013.